


to sleep, perchance

by sinspiration



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), M/M, Pining Shiro (Voltron), anyway, but like, k...ind of, still canon, tldr; shiro doesn't want keith to have to cut his hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21826615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinspiration/pseuds/sinspiration
Summary: There, at the base of his head, right where his braid begins, is a bright blue, gluey-looking glob of...something. “What is that?”Another sigh. “Bliffuf goo.” Keith turns back around, making a face. “They spit it. And I managed to avoid all of it but this. They told me oil might be able to get it out, but that if it doesn't work…” His expression turns almost scared.“What happens if it doesn’t work?” Shiro demands, dread rising.Keith’s gaze drops. “I’ll have to cut my hair,” he says quietly.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 59
Kudos: 398





	to sleep, perchance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sepiacigarettes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepiacigarettes/gifts).



> To a cool mod and neat person. I was assured she would like this, so I hope she does!
> 
> (Thanks to Christie for the beta and being a sneaky sneak.)

Shiro turned in at one.

It’s currently three, and he’s been alternating between staring at his ceiling and the inside of his eyelids.

He can’t sleep. It’s not unusual that he can’t. Sometimes it feels like he’s too full of bone-deep exhaustion to actually sink into unconsciousness. He spent too long fighting while awake to be able to calm down and rest.

He sleeps better, when he can sleep, when he knows things are safe and secure. He’s tried to wean off of doing rounds, especially this late, but if it might help…

With a sigh, Shiro pushes out of bed. He grabs a pair of sweatpants and pulls them on. Normally he’d throw on a shirt, but he’s overhot and sticky with stress-sweat. It’s three in the morning. No one will be awake to see him anyway.

He makes his way around the ship. There’s the usual buzz and hum of it as it moves through space, the absent background noise that Shiro hopes he’ll never stop hearing. Other than that, it’s quiet. Everything is as it should be.

Shiro decides, as he nears the kitchens, to make himself a snack. Sometimes having a full stomach helps him sleep. You’re not safe if you’re going hungry.

There’s a clatter as he approaches, and he covers the rest of the ground quickly, skidding to a stop as the door opens just in time to hear a quiet, “ _fuck, fuck,”_ in a voice he’s always glad to hear.

Though not when it’s distressed. “Keith?”

Keith jerks to a stand, the cupboard he was crouching in front of slamming shut loud enough that they both flinch. “Sorry,” he says. Followed by a shrug and a rueful smile, “good way for me to make a comeback, huh?”

“Any way you come back is a good way,” Shiro says. “As long as you’re okay.” He spends a moment taking Keith in. Shiro hasn’t seen him in almost a month, which tops out as the longest they’ve been apart since Keith joined the Blades on a permanent basis. Usually Keith tries to at least keep up communication, but this last mission had been a delicate one. Shiro’s messages had gone unanswered past a generic one letting him know that Keith was still alive.

Sometimes he’s grateful for generic.

But now he drinks Keith in and notices that Keith looks--tired, gorgeous--uncomfortable. “ _Are_ you okay?”

Keith sighs. “Not really.” He turns around.

There, at the base of his head, right where his braid begins, is a bright blue, gluey-looking glob of...something. “What is that?”

Another sigh. “Bliffuf goo.” Keith turns back around, making a face. “They spit it. And I managed to avoid all of it but this. They told me oil might be able to get it out, but that if it doesn't work…” His expression turns almost scared.

“What happens if it doesn’t work?” Shiro demands, dread rising.

Keith’s gaze drops. “I’ll have to cut my hair,” he says quietly.

Cold unfurls in Shiro’s gut. It’s not terrible. Keith isn’t hurt. 

But having to cut his hair _would_ hurt him. Being able to grow his hair long and getting to connect to his heritage, learning the meaningful braids and styles… Keith’s hair is important to him.

It’s important to Shiro too, for a number of different reasons.

“How can I help?”

Keith looks at him as though Shiro’s just done something worthwhile. His lips quirk. “Help me find something oily?”

Keith usually spends more time in the kitchen than Shiro does, but Shiro has been in it more recently. Between the two of them they go through all the cupboards until Shiro pulls out trilbant paste. It’s similar to peanut butter, and Shiro vaguely remembers something about peanut butter being good for getting gum out of hair. Maybe trilbant paste will work for goo. “What about this?”

Keith comes forward and takes the offered jar. “This might work.”

“Great.” Shiro smiles, trying to be calmer. “Probably best to get to it as soon as possible?”

“Yeah.” Keith’s eyes flick up, then away.

The goo is in an awkward spot, Shiro realizes. Keith isn’t able to see the back of his head. He might have problems getting the goo out himself.

It’s not… too forward to offer, is it?

He licks his lips. “Do you want some help?”

Keith blinks at him, startled, as though he hadn’t expected Shiro to offer. That’s when Shiro realizes his mistake; Keith doesn’t wear his hair down anymore. He wears it in warrior braids, or ceremonial twists, or the occasional relaxed knot. There’s an intimacy to allowing someone not family see one’s hair completely loose, and Shiro wasn’t even thinking, was so stupid as to presume--

“I’d really appreciate that,” Keith says, smile hesitant but bright.

Shiro breathes out. “Okay. My room?” He actually has a bathtub. A luxury, and one he’s grateful for. Sometimes sinking into water and closing his eyes are the only ways he can get his mind to be quiet.

“Yeah,” Keith says. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Keith picks up the pack lying on the floor and they head down the hall side-by-side, until they reach Shiro’s door. Trying for levity, Shiro grins at Keith and gestures for him to do the honors. Part of him just wants to see Keith press his own palm to the sensor. He’s the only one beside Shiro who can unlock the door with his bios, and Shiro… likes to see Keith do it.

Once inside, Keith drops his pack again and fiddles with his suit until he pushes it off his shoulders, tying the arms around his waist to leave him topless, moving carefully to keep the goo from getting anywhere else, and then they go to the bathroom together. By unspoken agreement, Keith goes to sit in the bottom of the tub while Shiro sits on the edge, his legs bracketing either side of Keith’s body.

It’s not often that they’re in a position such as this, especially recently. Shiro has a moment where he realizes just how small Keith looks, slim body framed by Shiro’s thighs. He’s all lean, compact lines and Shiro wants to stroke his fingers over Keith’s skin and feel him shudder.

It’s not a new want, but, he realizes, breathing shallowly, he’s being given an incredible privilege.

His hand doesn’t shake when it comes to touch the base of Keith’s braid. “Can I?”

Keith nods, the braid shifting has he does do. “Yeah, go ahead. I’m all yours.”

“I’ll do my best with that responsibility,” Shiro tries to joke as he carefully starts to unbraid Keith’s hair. His hands stay steady as the silken strands slide across his fingers and he has to close his own eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, the scene hasn’t changed. He isn’t dreaming.

“I trust you,” Keith says. It’s said lightly, but every time Keith uses those words he makes them sound fierce. As if daring the universe to disbelieve him.

Shiro gets the braid undone and just looks at the hair spilling down across Keith’s shoulders and back. It makes Keith look strangely vulnerable. Delicate in a way that belies Keith’s strength and determination. Open in a way Keith doesn’t often let show. 

Keith hands over the jar before Shiro can reach for it himself, and Shiro unscrews the lid and leaves it perched on the tub lip next to him, scooping out a generous handful. More is probably better, from what he can remember about gum.

Keith makes a small sound when Shiro carefully gathers his hair up and starts rubbing the paste into the goo at the base of his neck, a shocked, pleased little thing that Shiro tucks away as he gently works the paste into the strands.

For several minutes there’s just the sound of them both sitting quietly as Shiro does his best to coat all of Keith’s hair that has goo on it. Keith’s hair is thick, so Shiro has to work in sections to get all of it covered with the paste. Then it’s a matter of rubbing more paste in, starting to smile as he feels the goo begin to weaken and give way, breaking down the more he works.

“I think it’s helping,” he says. His voice comes out quiet, not wanting to disturb the delicate little bubble they’ve surrounded themselves in. He feels all over calmer with something to do. Though he knows it’s more than just _something._ It’s getting to be with Keith and being given the privilege to care for him.

He could fall asleep like this, his fingers wound in Keith’s hair.

Keith’s hand lifts to reach back, but Shiro catches it before he can touch. “Why don’t you wait til I wash your hair. You’ll just get all oily otherwise.”

Keith huffs, amused and pointedly wiggles his fingers, which are now shiny with a thin sheen from Shiro’s own coated hand. But then his expression turns soft, eyes heavy-lidded and captivating. “You’ll wash my hair?”

Shiro swallows. He wants to. God, does he want to. “If you’ll let me.”

Keith’s smile is the sun and stars. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

Shiro nods and tries to smile back, but he’s struck by the force of such a gift. Instead he turns his attention back to Keith’s hair until the blue is well and truly dissolved. “All done, I think.”

Keith nods, and his hair is heavy now, weighed down with the paste and slightly matted-looking. Shiro’s already looking forward to washing it clean. Getting to spend a few more moments like this. “Great. Okay, just a sec.”

He pulls away, and Shiro bites down the mournful sound at him leaving, but Keith doesn’t go far. Just stands up, facing away from Shiro, and works the rest of the suit down and off his hips, then his legs, and then he’s kicking it off and dropping it over the side of the tub. “Needs to be washed anyway, but I’d rather not sit in it while it’s wet.” He folds back down again.

Shiro licks his dry lips. “Good idea. Let me just get some stuff.”

He washes his hands, then grabs a couple of buckets, as well as his shampoo bar. It’s just basic soap, and he despairs at it for a moment because Keith deserves better, when he remembers a gift basket from Lance that he hasn’t really touched.

Scrounging for it, he emerges triumphant with a luxury shampoo bar that smells like jasmine, as well as a matching conditioner. Perfect.

He brings his spoils back to the tub, along with a couple of buckets, which he fills with warm water. In all this time, Keith hasn’t said anything, seemingly content to let Shiro putter around however he pleases.

Trusting Shiro. It’s heady.

“Close your eyes,” Shiro murmurs when he’s ready and back at the tub. When Keith gives him the go ahead, he pours some water over his hair and down his back, cupping his hand over Keith’s face to block the worst of it.

He gets to lathering up the shampoo, sinking back into calm as he washes Keith’s hair. It takes several rinses and re-latherings to get the oil out, and Shiro enjoys it all. So does Keith, from the breathy little sounds he keeps letting out. Shiro recognizes them as pleasure, and he loves it, that he’s able to give Keith this, even with what he’s taking.

It might be overkill to towel him off, press the water out of Keith’s hair so it will dry faster, but Keith doesn’t seem to mind. All he does is move as Shiro moves him, like he’s been doing since Shiro found him in the kitchen.

Finally though, Shiro is satisfied with the job he’s done, even if he’s sorry to stop. He reaches for one of Keith’s hands and brings it back to the base of Keith’s own head, so he can feel for himself that the goo is gone. “All done.”

Keith’s sharp intake of breath is telling, as is his expression when he turns back to face Shiro, all-over relieved. “Thank you.” It’s said quietly, fervently.”Thank you, Shiro.”

Shiro smiles back at him, barely able to stand the brilliance. “Of course. Anytime.” He tries to fight down the yawn, but it’s jaw-cracking. All he can do is cover his mouth. 

“You’re exhausted,” Keith says. It’s possible he’s just realizing the hour. And it’s much later now, than it was when Shiro first got up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“It’s fine, Keith, really.” Shiro sighs. “I wasn’t sleeping anyway.” He could now, though. He feels so much more relaxed now. 

“Still.” Keith frowns. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Shiro doesn’t make much of a fuss as Keith, heedless of his state of undress, guides him out of the bathroom and leads him to the bed. He eases himself back down onto the mattress and sighs, already missing Keith’s proximity. In the dim light of the room, he can just make out Keith rooting through his drawers. Not that he minds, but, “What’re you doing?”

“Finding something to sleep in,” Keith says, voice fond. “I’m not putting my suit back on until it’s clean. And everything in my pack could use a wash anyway.” 

“You’re staying?” Shiro asks, hopeful.

He watches Keith twisting his hands in his own hair, quickly braiding the wet strands. “If you don’t mind.”

“Never,” Shiro says, and means it with all of himself. Then, feeling bold, he adds, “I want you here. With me.” He pulls back the covers for emphasis.

There is a sharp silence where Shiro’s heart leaps in his throat, he ruined it, he _ruined it--_

And then a warm hand touches his as Keith climbs in next to him. His hair is damp underneath Shiro’s cheek, because Keith tucks up close. Shiro’s arm falls across Keith’s slim waist naturally. 

“I-I might not sleep well,” he manages, because he wants to warn Keith of that. “Wake me up if you need to.”

“I will,” Keith promises. Then, quietly, like an admission, “I dream of losing you.”

Shiro swallows. “Wake me up for that, too.”

Keith shifts in Shiro’s hold, and at first Shiro thinks he wants to be released--but then Keith only turns more toward him, which lets Shiro cling tighter. “Shiro?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you take care of my hair for me tomorrow?”

“You mean… comb it out?”

A nod in the dark. “If you--if you don’t mind.”

“Could I braid it too?” Shiro whispers. “Would you show me how?”

“If you want,” Keith says, sounding shy. “I can, um, I can teach you one I haven’t worn yet. But I’d want to. If you did it for me.”

Shiro allows his free hand to come up and touch Keith’s wet braid, trailing down the length of the plait. “I’d like that very much. Please.”

“Okay,” Keith says, voice fainter. “Tomorrow.”

Shiro finally drifts asleep to the sound of Keith’s breathing and the weight of his body in Shiro’s arms, his thoughts on the different meanings the Galra have for their braids.

He has hopes for the patterns Keth wants to teach him.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna talk with me about sheith on [twitter?](https://twitter.com/justsayins)


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